Growing Pains
by xxsparklesnick
Summary: She promised herself that she would not wait for him like a love-struck housewife. She would never love him again. In the end, though, it was not her choice. Love is not true or real or fake or black and white. Love is not easy. Love, simply, just is.


Disclaimer: Nope, I still, unfortunately, do not own Twilight. I am not in denial, either. :P Uh-uh. It all belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Happy, now?

A/N: Ahhh.

Guys, I don't know what's with me and angst. Somehow, it likes following me around. I'm convinced I'm an angsty writer. I tried to write fluff and light-hearted humor and I got the block, so I had to have an outlet. Now, usually, I go to Crumbling Walls/Natural Defense Mechanism for my share of healthy angst (hahaha, excuse my shameless story plug right there, but go read that on my page if you haven't), but I just couldn't do it. I wanted something a little different.

I figured I'd try my hand at a short angsty little one-shot, smile at it, save it and maybe post it, and then be done with it, you know? People do that. It's simple. :P I wanted to take a break from two extremes of my stories and write this, and then I got way too involved and it turned out completely different than I expected it to. Plus, it's longer. Whoops? I dunno. Your call.

Either way, I'm just about 89.99 percent sure that this is a one-shot, though I'm kind of tempted to take this idea and run with it a bit, maybe not exactly like this. I'm going to try not to, though. Either way, I am really happy with how this turned out in the end really, and I hope you like it. :)

Well, enough rambling. Enjoy, maybe...?

* * *

It had been years since she had last spoken to Edward.

She had promised herself that the day he walked away from the house she would never speak to him again. When he left her after that fight, left her and did not come back for such a long time, she swore that she would never forgive him. He wrote her letters, but she did not write back. He tried to call her, but she did not pick up the phone. Sometimes he sent her flowers, but she simply threw them away, cast them aside as if they did not matter. There was nothing that was going to stop her. She had promised herself that she would never love him again, and she was firm on that.

A year passed and the letters stopped. The phone stopped ringing after a while, and the delivery man no longer brought flowers to her door stop. After a while it was easier, and the tears stopped falling. It was safe to wear make up now, and people around her were more at ease. She did not cry at the slightest mention if his name, she did not break down at the thought of him and everything he had been to her. After a while it was easy, just like breathing. She did not love him, she was sure. After a while it had faded, and perhaps it was not love at all.

If he had loved her, he would not have left. He would not left her on that cold stormy night and told her that he would not be back for such a long while. He had kissed her that night, but she had been unresponsive, just like the very first night he had done so. She had been so young and scared then, so uncomfortable in her own skin, and he was not very different. They had both been so young and crazy, but also so crazy in love. When they vowed to marry each other, no one seemed surprised. At the time, it had seemed so wonderfully right, but now she began to wonder if it was so.

When she said 'I do', she had meant it with every part of her. She did. She wanted to be with him forever, for every single day of forever, or however long she would be allowed. She wanted to see that crooked smile, to kiss those full and pouty lips. She wanted to see him become a doctor, to raise a family, to make it with him. She took a risk, a chance, and she had not regretted it then.

But then along came the war, and everything had changed, her husband included. Suddenly nothing else mattered to him, and she found herself lost lagging behind. He did not love her anymore, certainly not. He spoke of the glory the war would give him, how he could come back a new man for her. She told him she did not want a new man, that she wanted _him – _he was perfect, and there was no war that could change that, nothing that could better perfection. He did not seem to hear her.

It was not long before he spoke of his plans. He would go off to war, leave her alone. He would fight for his country and risk his life, his wonderful, precious, _perfect_ life, all for a cause that seemed just so trivial in the long run. He was passionate about it, helping others, he had always been. _"Isabella Masen,_" he said that one cold night, his teeth grit tightly together, "_I have to, it's my duty. It's the only way."_

When she had asked what he was talking about, he had simply smiled. It was not her crooked smile but a smile so foreign to her that she swore it did not belong on his gorgeous face. It seemed to contort it, more of a grimace or a frown than a smile. It disgusted her.

He always went on to say about how one day he'd return to her. He'd come back to her a new, changed man, and after he'd done what he had to. He talked about how he'd make himself worthy, but she had never understood it. He told her of the bad things he had done, reminded her of the things she already knew, and it simply made her more agitated. He thought he could leave her and just come back, just like that. He thought she would wait around for it, like a love sick housewife.

He was wrong. She was not having it. That night she told him to leave if he had to, if he felt it was the right thing to do, but to not come back. She told him to never come back if he wanted her, if he loved her. She'd never forget what he said in return as he turned around to face her, an unfathomable expression on his face.

"_If that's how you want it, Bella. I'm doing this for you, love, don't you understand?"_

She had shook her head, because she hadn't. It hadn't made sense to her, and it never quite would. She didn't want him to go, so how could it be for her? It didn't make sense, and she didn't want to try and make sense of it. She just didn't have the energy anymore.

"_I'm making myself worthy of you. But if you don't want me back, then I'm not going to come back. If you want me, I'll be here. As soon as I can, I'll be here. Wait for me."_

She had screamed that she couldn't. Thatshe _wouldn't._ If he left, he wouldn't be here when he came back. She would not wait for him, and she would not love him. He had smiled sadly, the saddest smile she had ever seen on his lips, and kissed her forehead lightly. That was the first time she had seen Edward cry, his green eyes brimming just slightly with tears that threatened to spill over. She screamed at him to stay with her, to be with her like he had promised, nearly begged. She needed him. She wanted him. She _loved_ him. Why hadn't he seen that?

Then she asked him the question she had been thinking about ever since he had begun talking about leaving her. She let it blurt out, spit it out like venom, and immediately she regretted it. She would never forget his reply, because it had always haunted her, always burned her. There would not be a single moment when she would not remember it, when it did not keep her awake at night.

"_Goodbye, my sweet Bella."_

Then he walked away. Out of the house, out into the rain, into his car and down the road. She watched him speed away, because she couldn't find the right words then. Se had asked him if he loved her still, if he wanted to be with her, but it was obvious what his answer was. He sped off and left her that night, and she felt the tears drip down her face, but she had not the strength to wipe them away. For a long time she stood there, just thinking, wishing, hoping, and it all seemed in vain. Wishing now would not bring him back. Crying would not bring him back, either. Only he could bring himself back, but he wouldn't. He didn't love her anymore, there was no other explanation. At the same time, though, she felt it. She felt her heart breaking, and she swore by the time he came back, if he did, it would be fixed.

She swore to herself that she would never love him again. Just as his love had faded for her she would make her own love fade, somehow. The first letter came in the mail and she only sent it back. The first phone call came and she simply ignored the phone. After a while, she just did not turn it on any longer. She learned to un-hook the cord at night, because that was when he was likeliest to call, but he changed every once in a while.

Then, though, the phone calls stopped, as did the letters. The flowers were not sent, and she did not get chocolate on Valentine's Day. She was healing, she was sure. She did not cry as often, and she began to go out with her friends at night. She did not watch the news near religiously, and she learned to teach herself that she simply didn't care. She hooked her phone back in because she did not have to fear that he'd call again.

Somewhere along the line, on a hot, sunny summer's day, she met Jacob Black.

It was not love, she was sure, but it was the closest as she'd ever get. She could learn to love him, she had told herself. Once her old wound healed, she would love him, she had been certain. He was the farthest from _him_, and that was what she liked the most. Jacob was more of a boy than he was a man. His face still held vestiges of baby fat. His jaw was not strong and his eyes were not the enticing, endearing green, but they were a dark brown, nearly black. In his own right he was attractive, his russet skin unique and beautiful, but he would never be him. She was glad for that.

For the most part, much to her surprise, they worked smoothly. They had certain things in common, and talking to him was pleasant and enjoyable, never dull or forced or awkward. After a while, she was satisfied, but there was a nagging in the back of her head, something disgusting and repetitive, something she had sworn to lock away and never let out.

Jacob did not open doors for her or cook her dinner when she was exhausted. He did not scramble to the passenger's side door to open her side before she could just because he had flawed beliefs that it was right. He seemed perfectly fine with making love to her before marriage, even though _he_ had never dreamed of it. He did not believe in simply holding her in his arms. He did not smile into her neck and whisper that he loved her, that he would do everything for her. He did not call her _sweet Bella,_ or _beautiful_, or _angel._

She made it better, though. She shut the voice up, because as soon as the thoughts had time to surface they were gone, back in the far corner of her mind. All she had to do, simply, was tell herself that Jacob had never left her, and then she was just fine.

After a month she stopped wearing her ring. She took it off, but she could not throw that away like every other once sentimental item. She put it in her special memories box, with the photos, the CD, the little trinkets. She locked it up and promised never to look at it again, but sometimes she did anyway. Sometimes she wondered how she had the will to lock it away at all, but promised herself that it did not matter. She did not love him anymore, and so his ring should not affect her.

Another month and she moved in with him, just like that. It was a split second decision, but she did not care. She was convinced she loved him then, sure that it was alright. This is what she wanted for herself, after all; to move on and to forget. The phone calls had ended a long time ago, the letters long forgotten. He had promised to come back to her, but he never had, and she would not wait. If he came back, she would no longer love him.

That summer, on a hot August evening, she became Isabella Black and left her old life behind her. She was happy, she was sure. She wore his ring and kissed his lips and made love to him that night. The voice in the back of her head reminded her of all the differences in their bodies, but she simply pushed it back. It was easier now, like breathing. It did not matter. They were different, she was different. Things changed, loved faded. She loved Jacob now, and there was no way around that. She loved his dark hair and his dark eyes and his laugh and his smile. She had made herself love him, and she did not regret that.

Jacob did not open doors or her car door. He did not take her to romantic dinners or spend hours reciting corny poetry just to recite it to her. He did not write her songs and compose beautiful music for her on the piano. He did not spend hours in line to get her tickets to her favorite concert, just because he knew it would make her smile. He did not have silky smooth bronze hair, unbelievable green eyes, and gorgeous ivory skin, but he would never leave her either, and that was enough. That was certainly more than enough, she had thought.

Still, it had only taken one phone call to make all of that come crumbling. She was finally happy, finally content. She had finally let go, finally kept her promise. She did not love him. She could not love him, and she would not wait.

"_Is this Isabella Masen?"_

"_Isabella Black,"_ she had corrected immediately, irritated as she glanced over at her husband lounging on the couch with her father. He grinned as he saw her, something goofy and childish, and she couldn't help but smile back before speaking again. _"May I ask who is calling?"_

"_This is Jessica Stanley. I'm calling to inform you that your husband, Edward Masen –"_

She didn't like to think about the rest of that phone call.

She froze. She burned. She _broke_.

She tried to breathe.

It didn't help that just his name was a shock to her system, sent her breaking down all over again. It didn't help that the moment she had spoken his name she had started to cry, because once again she saw his face. She saw the crooked smile, she felt her heart breaking all over again, and then just as quickly she felt her feet move. She hadn't known where she was going and she did not see the concerned look on her husband's face as she ripped open the locked box she had set aside in her closet, the box she had promised she would never open again.

There were hundreds of letters there, but she ripped open the most recent, her tears running down her cheeks as she did.

And she realized then that things change, but some things never would. Love did not fade if it was true, it only grew stronger, just remaining dormant. It stayed and burned and built up until it just needed to be released. The tears kept falling then as she set the letter down and reached farther into the box, pulling out the ring she had so long forgotten and sliding it onto her finger.

She could not make herself stop loving Edward, and she should have never tried. It was an impossible feat, one that she was a fool to attempt. She had always loved him, and she always would. Not for a moment would she stop loving him, no matter how hard she tried.

Things changed, but some didn't. Some things were constant, beautiful, and they could not be touched. True love did not simply fade, it only morphed and matured and grew. Tragedy could not stop it, nor could distance, it could only complicate. Her heart had always known she'd loved him.

There was only so long that you could lie to yourself before the truth became obvious. Love was strange and uncontrollable, and people were unpredictable. Change was inevitable, but feelings, emotions, love, it was hard to be touched. It was pure and wonderful, and she could not make it go away.

She had tried so hard. She had ignored all the phone calls, threw away the flowers, taken off her ring, but there had not be a moment when she had not loved him. Sitting there and reading the letter over and over did not make her stop, it only made her hurt, it only stained the page with tears that smudged in with the dirt that was already present.

Love did not fade. Love could not be touched by time, merely changed. It could be ignored, but only to an extent. When she closed her eyes, she saw green eyes, full pouty lips. She saw bronze hair.

When she opened them she was alone, but Jacob's voice – her _husband's_ voice – rang out and called to her, deep and husky and concerned. She had to smile through her tears as she took off the ring, the one she had forced herself to lock away and never touch again. She had said 'I do' so easy that day. Easier than breathing. Easier than living.

"Bella, are you alright?"

"Fine, Jake. I'm fine." She smiled bitterly, shaking her head as she looked up at the man who had caught her and healed her. His work was in vain now. The stitches had torn and come apart, and she wasn't sure the wounds could close now. She wasn't sure if she wanted them to. "I was just going through some old stuff."

"Is this your ex-husband's stuff?" he asked, looking down at the box of old things – of Edward's things – that he had always knew she had kept. He hadn't commented, ever, and his face was expressionless. She was grateful. She could not bear for this to hurt him too, not at the moment.

"Yeah," was her lame, quiet reply.

"Funny how things change, huh? It's been a while." He tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out why she was trying, trying to see why she was breaking down and coming apart now. He looked so helpless, because unlike Edward, he had never been verbal. He did not know what to say to help her, but he leaned down and gently patted her shoulder, trying to grin that wolfish grin for her. She could tell she was hurting him.

She forced a smile, and tried to lie to herself.

"Yeah, Jake. It's funny."

_My Sweetest Bella,_

_It's been a long time, hasn't it? I do hope your well. I have so much time out here to wonder where you are, what you're doing. It makes me wonder if you miss me just as much as I miss you, or if you meant what you said that cold night. I try to think that it is not the latter, but I cannot truly make myself believe it. The determination in your eyes that night was quite believable, after all._

_Out here I've had time to rethink myself. As I've seen people kill and be killed, I've grown and matured, just as I aimed to. You did not truly understand why I had to do this, but I will never regret the decision, just for an entirely different reason than I first thought. I have done things I am not proud of, Bella, you know this. I have hurt people, I have destroyed them. I needed to be worthy of you, but this was not the way to go about it. This place, this disgusting, corrupt place, it helped me realize something._

_I'm ready to let it all go for you. I was the moment I said 'I do'. Love changes people, Bella. I've changed. You've done that. I realized somewhere along the line that I do not belong here in the midst of battle, but with you, angel. I belong back home, where you have welcomed me, changed me. Where you have loved me._

_I do not know when I will be back to you, but if you will allow it, just know it will be as soon as I possibly can. You asked me that cold night if I wanted you, if I loved you, and I could not answer. I do not need you. I do not love you. You do not mean anything to me._

_Love is not a strong enough word for what you make me feel, it has never been. You drive me insane. You set my world aflame, you make everything difficult and frustrating and impossible, and I love it. You are like an addiction, the sweetest sin I have ever come across. I have never deserved you, Bella, but I have always wanted you. Just know this. I adore you. I do not want you, I need you. You cannot imagine what being without you for so long has done to me. _

_How are you, Bella? Are you happy? Are you safe?_

_I'll close my eyes tonight and lay in a tent as the rain pours down and people scream in agony and loss. I'll watch as my friends die, as they scream in pain as their lives change and they lose everything. I'll close my eyes and see only you. I'll hold you in my arms tonight, Bella. You've always felt so soft and fragile. Has that changed? I doubt that, but it would not matter. You will always be beautiful to me._

_You are not just anything to me, Bella. You are everything. You are my life, and you are where I belong now._

_Wait for me, love._

_Yours Always,_

_Edward_

* * *

A/N: Just thought I'd let you know that I'm pathetic and, of course, at the end of writing this I got all misty-eyed.

So, give my your comments, criticism, whatever. Good, bad? I'm not really used to one-shots, or at least going in and trying to write it like this. So, you know, comments are always nice and all that. Either way, it definitely served its purpose and got me out of my temporary rut! That's what matters in the end, right? Right?! :P

You know me. I'm a softie for reviews. ;)

Haha, yours always,

Nicky


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